American Trains

Chapter 26: Home

A/N:

Here we are. The final chapter. *starts crying* Damnit, I don't want it to end either! Gosh, you all have been so amazing. Thank you so much for being the greatest audience EVER. Seriously. Nothing but love to ya'll. ;)

Reviews:

Renuki: Ahh, am I so cruel?

Trumpet-Geek: Big yard, away from reality? Hehe, well it's just Artie.

Anonymous: Oh, I nearly cried writing it! :P

aerrow4eva: read on. ;)

Inkaugneato: All things must, my dear. :(

dustyrose: No no, Ivan's done. ;P

Kay: The usuk brainwaves are still with us, my friend. ;) I'm sorry to make you cry in front of your co-workers! *hands Kay a extra-strength Excedrin* The pain will be over soon! promise! LOl

Blackcat: Thanks, and yeah, sad endings are sad. T_T

Anyway, on to the last chapter. See y'all at the bottom!

Everything was black; nothing felt present, not the air, the ground, the blood nor the pain. Everything was gone. Alfred wondered if he was dead perhaps, and maybe this was the afterlife? Nothingness. No, because he was still thinking, and wouldn't that mean he was alive?

It was all a little confusing. He definitely remembered being struck over and over again by the heavy pipe and he surely remembered how hard he'd tried to fight back, but after the first blow had winded him and the few others that followed brought him to submission, he'd merely done his best to curl up and protect his body as best he could in passive shielding.

Eventually he'd passed out, whether from some survival instinct kicking in or from the acute pain, he wasn't sure. His mind was too foggy to recall the incident properly.

The cowboy attempted to try and move, but found there was nothing to adjust. He knew his limbs had to be there, Ivan wouldn't have cut them from his torso, would he? No, he was aware of their presence, but they didn't respond to any of his nerve signals.

Well, that was certainly strange. The American couldn't remember ever feeling like this. It was like his mind and body were somehow disconnected. The signals fired, but nothing received them. It was terribly frustrating. He should have been up and moving; where was Ivan? Arthur? Was Roderich there?

By force of will, Alfred tried to connect those live sparks. He had to wake up. He had to move. Ivan was still out there and so was Artie, and he dared not think of what Ivan would do if he caught the Brit hiding among the train cars.

Alfred slowly slipped into consciousness, with the same feeling of bodily dislocation. His limbs hurt some, yes, but for a split instance he wasn't sure if they were actually his. He forced himself to take a deep breath and instantly regretted it.

The disassociation collapsed, leaving only searing hot pain to rattle him to the very bone. He couldn't even scream, that hurt too. It was as if a volley of knives had been plunged and twisted into his chest, choking off his pain in a pitiful whimper.

The cowboy slowly worked through the suffering, not daring to move at all until the pain ebbed. When it lapsed he let his eyes slip open, looking into the darkness surrounding him. Something approached him, no; rather it was someone, followed by more as he felt the rhythmic vibrations of footfalls on the hard ground.

His vision was blurred, but he could vaguely make out his hand beside his head and the reflective frames of his glasses under the moon's cold light. The rest of his sight was blood, his blood, and it dripped sluggishly into his eyes, stinging them.

The footsteps came closer and he couldn't help but groan in pain as even the tiniest jittering of the ground pricked his raw nerves.

Something moved above him and a hand settled on his shoulder curiously, but it sent another wave of pain streaking through the American's system. He would have shied from the painful touch if his body had cooperated, but it seemed to have been too lethargic from the pain so instead, Alfred made a soft noise in his throat.

The hand retreated suddenly and a melodic, accented voice filled his ears with hurried apologies. Alfred merely let his eyes slip shut again, trying to block out the terrible pain to no avail.

Blackness reached up and hooked its talons into his aching flesh and mercifully dragged him back down. The pain ebbed as Alfred slipped back unconscious, vaguely wondering about the voices speaking quickly in some other language above him as he fell away from the waking world yet again.

~.:AT:.~

The next time the cowboy woke he was lying on his back with strong sunlight filtering through a tall window set over the bed. It pierced his blue eyes and made him wince, which in turn, made him realize just how badly his entire body ached.

It wasn't the sharp, fresh pain from before. Now it was a droning, constant misery that lapped at the fringes of his rude nerves and drained his body.

"You're awake, I see." Said that same lost voice from before, soft, but definitely male.

"Roderich?" The American tried through his hazy mind. It certainly wasn't Arthur; the Brit's voice was too deeply ingrained into his memory to ever forget. The thought suddenly struck him. Where was Arthur?

He bolted up, and bellowed in pain as his still painful wounds protested the sudden movement, and he nearly passed out again. He forced himself to stay awake, gritting his teeth hard.

"Hey! What are you doing? Are you crazy!" The voice cried out in exclamation. Alfred only looked to the source when a hand settled on his chest trying to push him back down.

An oriental man was sitting beside him, and currently trying to force Alfred back down to the thin bed. He had a soft, round face, golden-brown eyes and slick black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. The man wore concern on his face as his flighty hands tried to keep the American bayed.

"Where's Arthur?" Alfred finally choked out, allowing himself to fall back to the bed.

"Who?"

The cowboy squeezed his eyes shut in coming despair.

"Was there another fella with me?"

"Yes. He was dead through. He had a gun wound through the center of his chest and-"

Alfred felt his body start to shake and he bit his lip. Was Arthur dead?

"He was a tall fellow, with white hair. Why, is he this Arthur you mentioned?"

"No." Alfred sighed in overwhelming relief and swallowed hard to keep a soft sob under his breath. But then, where was Arthur? Had he fled and gotten Roderich and the musician had killed Ivan maybe?

"Well, then no. There was no one else besides the dead man, but enough of that. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got stomped on by a herd a' steer." He managed around a twitch of a smile.

"That might actually have hurt less. You're lucky to be alive mister-"

"Alfred. Don't call me 'mister' or nothin' like that." Said man interjected.

"Okay then Alfred. As I was saying you're lucky you're alive."

The cowboy cracked one eye open to look up at the curious, and slightly effeminate face. A questioning look crossed the American's expression and the man didn't seem to mind explaining.

"Oh, I'm Wang Yao, so you know."

"Howdy, Mr. Yao," Alfred mumbled, feeling tired and achy and confused beyond reason.

"My crew and I were just checking the yard before he went home for the night. We heard some gunshots and by the time we tracked it down across the yard, it was too late. We found the white-haired man first; he was dead before we even reached him.

"One of my crew pointed you out on the ground and when I came over, I thought you were dead as well until you made a noise."

Alfred nodded slowly, trying to keep his wild, racing thoughts under control.

Yao shrugged, and started to toy with the stray ends of his ponytail.

"I didn't want to just leave you there to die. My crew helped me carry you here and I treated your wounds as best I could."

Alfred took the time to look over himself. Off-colored wrappings surrounded his chest and he could feel sticking substances coating various bruises and lesions across his body. Oddly the stuff smelled like flowers, and alcohol.

"You've been in and out of the waking world for the better part of a day now."

The cowboy sighed and slipped his eyes close. An entire day. It would have taken minutes for Ivan to kill Arthur if he'd caught him. The blue-eyed man's small hope deflated and died away.

"Even so, you should rest. You mumbled the name Roderich a few times. Did you mean, theRoderich? As in the musician the State-linehires?"

Alfred nodded, unable to speak as his dreadful thoughts overwhelmed him.

"You know him?"

The cowboy nodded again and flicked his eyes open to meet Yao's golden one. Despair eating Alfred up inside. He already missed Arthur, wherever he was, dead or alive.

Yao sighed heavily and rose.

"I'll go and bring him. I have other patients to tend to, and you appear to be out of my healing abilities now. You're body will heal Alfred. Everything else, I'm not so sure of it." The medicine man mumbled, noting the defeated expression hollowing Alfred's bright blue gaze.

With that said, he left the small strangely scented room and left the troubled American alone in the silence to his misery.

*~.:AT:.~*

~ 2 Years Later ~

*~.:AT:.~*

Alfred sighed and wiped the sweat gathering on his brow with the back of his gloved hand.

Even though it was the very beginning of fall, the soft creep of the chill had begun to set into the Northwestern portion of Pennsylvania. Still, that didn't bay the perspiration of a hard day's work. Not that Alfred minded; he loved what he did.

After leaving Kansas nearly two years ago, he'd moved back to his old hometown of Oil City. The small town had welcomed home their local ex-soldier fairly warmly, but nothing had ever been the same since the fateful events that had forever changed the American's life so long ago.

He tried hard not to think about it as he lifted another massive bale up and over one of the many fine stall walls of the stables he currently was working in.

The old gunshot wound in his shoulder twitched slightly as he let his arms drop back down. The ex-cowboy rubbed at it absently. After so much agitation, it had never properly healed. An ugly scar was hidden beneath his sweat-drenched and hay-spotted shirt, but that had never bothered Alfred. Occasionally if he moved his shoulder a certain way, the wound would twitch and the muscle would go weak, leaving the blond often dropping heavy things and losing his grip sometimes with the horses he tended.

After he returned home, out of money and in a severe dip of understandable depression, he'd been lucky to find work with the local oil barons. They'd been impressed by his horsemanship and a few had hired his services to tend to their pedigree studs and broodmares whilst they managed their grand homes and businesses.

Alfred loved it. He loved the well-groomed show horses that always seemed to crave his affections and the hard, but not overly strenuous work that accompanied being a good stable boy.

He leaned his back against the stall's far wall and sighed. Behind him, a roan mare named Abigail's Rose snorted and brushed her velvety nose against his shoulder. The blue-eyed man smiled and reached back to stroke her cheek.

"I have to get goin' Abby. I'll see you later though, alright?" He said softly before unhitching from the wall, and tiding up the tack he'd cleaned before exiting the stable.

The ex-cowboy tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his belt as he walked downhill from the baron's estate land.

His own little home was situated on the opposite side of town, where most of the lower class and those employed by the oil baron's lived, just across a set of bridges that hovered above the Allegheny.

He traversed them easily, watching the river below with eyes downcast. By the time he reached home, a slim house at the edge of a sloping hill, it was nearing sunset and the sky was just beginning to separate into different hues.

Once inside, he stripped of his shirt and set his hat aside. He splashed cold water over his face from the washbasin, rinsing the sweat and grime from his visage. Grabbing an old towel, he dried himself and plucked up a fresh shirt, one that was a soft gray tone, and slipped it over his broad, scarred shoulders.

Alfred didn't dally; exited the tree-shaded home quickly and headed back down the rolling hills of the familiar town. He smiled as he approached a fenced-off patch of lush grass, surrounded by thin sweet birches.

As he reached the fence, he swung his leg over it and bounced to the ground, only to be greeted by a familiar whinny and the sound of hooves padding up to him. The blond turned to be greeted by the deep brown eyes of his long time equestrian companion.

"Hey, Hero." The stable-hand chimed and rubbed his gelding's velvety nose. He spread his fingers over and down the animal's strong neck and leaned against him some as he hugged the horse's neck. He stopped by every day after work to greet and pet his horse and enjoyed every moment of it. It was a welcome distraction from the pain in his heart.

Over the broad horse's shoulder, Alfred could see his other charge, the silvery dappled mare that had once belonged to Arthur, Cisco. The mare stood watching the two boys and tossed her head when she caught Alfred staring.

Alfred laughed softly into Hero's mane. Sometimes he thought maybe, just maybe, the grayling became jealous if he didn't show her the same affections he did Hero. Oh course it was likely just all in his head; the mare probably couldn't care less which received more affection from him. They probably would have been just as happy if he left the food, water and never looked their way again, but the lonely ex-cowboy liked to imagine someone still cared about his emotions.

Well, there were likely some people who cared, like Elise and Feli and maybe even Roderich and Gilbert, but it had been so long since he'd last seen or heard from themthat sometimes his lonesome mind had trouble recalling such details like that.

The last time he'd seen them had been over a year ago, after he'd been able to settle himself and inquired of Elise to ship him both Hero and Cisco. Feli had helped to arrange it and had actually met Alfred at one of Pennsylvania's shipping yards.

He recalled the memory fondly. Feli had been so excited to see him and Arthur again and be able to eat some pasta with them. Oh course, Arthur wasn't there though to be annoyed by the young, bouncy Italian's chattering.

No, the Brit had never been spotted ever since that night at the Kansas City train yard.

The American's thoughts trailed off as he shut away the pain bubbling up within him at the thought.

Hero snorted, as if sensing his master's brooding misery.

"I miss 'im, Hero." He mumbled sadly into the big animal's mane. He stood hugging his sturdy horse for some unmeasured amount of time until his blue gaze alighted on the sun dipping lower in the sky. He'd better be going before it got too dark out.

Reluctantly, he released Hero's neck and patted the friendly steed's nose.

"Thanks, friend." He muttered and climbed back over the fence again. He didn't look back as he continued walking, always with his eyes cast down, but never truly seeing the leaves falling to the ground or the plush grass he tread upon.

His sight was far away, to a time that, Alfred had never realized until it was too late, was probably one of the best nearly two weeks of his life.

It was amazing really, he'd only been with the quirky, sharp-tongued Brit for two weeks, and yet two years later, he was still haunted by the experience. Alfred always thought the war had been the greatest shaking of his life, but now he realized, even the battle against his fellow countrymenwas dwarfed by the jagged marks Arthur had left on his heart.

When he finally stopped, he knew exactly where he was despite not watching his surroundings. The scent alone gave it away, not to mention the place's temptation to his limbs after all this time.

He stood just on top of a rise that dipped down to the pebbly shores of the Allegheny. Here, at the peak, a long row of wild rosebushes grew and at this time of year, were blooming beautifully.

Alfred had liked roses all his life, but never more so than after he'd met Arthur. Their natural beauty, coupled by the threat of their thorns reminded him a lot of the emerald-eyed man. Of his soft, pale skin and his quick wit and biting remarks and the burning intensity of his emerald orbs.

The tall blond swallowed hard, feeling as if his heart was lodged in his throat, choking him up and threatening to escape in a sob.

The river below babbled softly, speaking to him, but Alfred wasn't listening. He sat down, crossing his legs and setting his pained gaze upon the slowly churning water.

The water reflected the shimmer of the setting sun, and cast pale orange and pink light scattering over the landscape. Alfred loved it here, but by the same token he hated it.

For nearly the past two years he come to this same spot almost every evening. Something about the river and the roses connected him to his past love. They reminded him of his Englishman so much that it hurt and made his heart clench with terrible pangs.

Vaguely, he wondered why he tortured himself like this. Why couldn't he just let go? Arthur was gone, never coming back. Why couldn't he accept that and move on?

"I miss you…" Alfred whispered mournfully to the river below. It whispered back to him, but Alfred had long since given up trying to decipher the water's mysterious tongue.

The longer he sat beside the roses and listened to the river, the more it hurt. Eventually, his eyes moistened, and Alfred felt the salty tears begin to trickle slowly down his bronzed cheeks. His vows not to shed tears were crumbling.

"I miss you…" He whispered again, and allowed himself to cry quietly to the emptiness around him.

*~.:AT:.~*

The day had been completely normal for Oil City's most acclaimed carpenter and functional mute, Berwald.

Normal, except for the odd feeling that tickled the very surface of his skin as the sun began to dip and color the skyline in pastels.

As he was closing up his little shop, making sure the door was shut securely in his massive hand, the sound of footsteps approached him. Maybe that odd sensation had meant something after all.

He turned, casting his cerulean gaze to a shorter blond approaching him with easy, confident strides.

Naturally, Berwald didn't speak and waited for the man to address him. He noted the man was smartly dressed with a dark green suit and certain air about him. Maybe he was one of Oil City's many barons?

"Good sir, would you mind helping a fellow out but for a moment?"

"S're sir." Berwald answered in a grunt, peering down at the shorter.

"I'm looking for a man by the sire of 'Jones.' He's got hair like the color of wheat and eyes the color of the summer sky. I was told a long time ago that he once lived here."

"J'nes? Ya, I kn'w 'im. W'rks f'r th' bar'ns. K'ps a pa'r a hors's on th' So'th end."

"So he is here?" The man inquired, eyes growing wide with barely contained excitement.

Berwald merely nodded and looked to the burning sky.

"'R'nd th's t'me ya'll f'nd 'im by th' r'ver. H's th'r' ev'ry n'ght."

"Thank you, good sir, thank you very much." The man said and quickly left the front edifice of Berwald's carpentry shop, dashing off to where the North and South ends met at the Allegheny's flanks.

*~.:AT:.~*

By the time the blue-eyed man at the river had stopped crying, the sun had vanished below the tree line and only left a dying trail of orange in the deep azure of the sky.

He would have cried longer, had his tears not run dry and left him with a tingling sting at the base of his eyes and a soft sniffle to boot.

Alfred sighed, but didn't move to stand. He had no desire to go, or even do anything. All the little tufts of happiness he'd ever garnered over the past two years spent alone had fallen away in the sadness of this night. He'd never cried over Arthur up until just then. It was as if the pain he'd been pushing away had finally become too much and had crushed him beneath it.

He'd thought he was being strong, never crying, and never speaking of Arthur. Now though, he regretted it. Maybe holding his misery until the levee finally broke hadn't been his best idea, but now he didn't care. Nothing mattered. He'd always be alone now and there was nothing wallowing in his pain could do to help that. Still though, he just couldn't bring himself to move.

Alfred barely twitched when he heard footsteps behind him and something kneel behind his back and even when a pair of slender arms wrapped tenderly around his shoulders, he did not stir.

It was nothing. Alfred knew so, from excruciating experience.

It was just another ghost come to tease him. Ever since he'd moved back to Oil City his dreams and even waking life had been plagued by phantasms of the Brit he'd left behind. They were more like nightmares actually. They always ended with Alfred still alone and sad. No matter how many times he wished those slim pale hands to be real when they petted his hair, or those thin lips to be real when he kissed them, they never were and left him sighing into the empty air.

No, two years of waking to ghosts left him numb to the squeeze of those arms around him. He even ignored the warm breath against his ear, the tickling of short, messy hair against his neck.

Alfred refused to be a victim of his desperate imagination any longer. He already felt like Hell, he didn't need this.

"Alfred…" The phantom whispered into his ear, brimming with emotion.

The spectre's hands slipped to his collar and pressed softly to the skin beneath, under the buttons like a desperate plea. Begging for acknowledgement.

Those hands felt so good against his skin, familiar, gentle, loving.

No. He wouldn't fall for this. He hated this. It was all just some sick twist of his foolhardy mind.

"I miss you…so much, Artie." Alfred choked out, trying so hard to fight off the phantom.

"I've missed you as well, my dear brute."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Why?"

"I left you. I wasn't good enough. I let ya down, and now ya gone."

"I'm right here, Alfred."

The tall blond shook his head. How many times had he heard that? It seemed like every night ended as such, but when he woke, there was no warm body beside him as promised.

Arthur sighed softly, and uncoiled his arms from Alfred's shoulders. Like an old tomcat, he slunk around Alfred on his hands and knees and crawled into the ex-cowboy's lap.

He smiled as the American blushed some, but still looked up at him with dark, dead eyes. The eyes of one lost of wanting life and desperate to be found again.

The Brit cupped his cowboy's tear stained cheeks and used the slight elevation advantage granted by his position to stare down into Alfred's eyes and brush his lips to the man he perched upon. He rolled his thumbs soothingly over the sun kissed skin.

"Alfred, I've missed you." The emerald-eyed man whispered.

"Six-hundred and seventy-six days."

Arthur cocked a brow.

"I've counted every one of 'em. Every single damned day since I lost ya. Why can't ya just leave me alone?" He whispered to the phantom of his lover.

The Brit said nothing else but let his eyes slip shut and he pressed his lips passionately to Alfred's.

The blue-eyed blond resisted at first, but finally gave in. He could indulge, couldn't he? Maybe just this once, the phantom would stay awhile longer? It hurt just a little less to accept the ghost, rather than to resist it.

The familiar taste of his lover's lips made the American's heart soar. The ghost had never let him kiss them before. They always managed to fall away from him.

Arthur lapped his tongue along Alfred's firm lips and sighed happily as the American allowed him access. He deepened the kiss further, tangling his fingers into Alfred's golden locks.

He carefully pushed Alfred down to the grass and sprawled out on top of his lover's chest, never breaking their kiss.

When they finally did break for air, Alfred's eyes sparkled with some sort of life again.

"Artie…?" He shook terribly and his voice choked. He tentatively reached his hand up and touched the Brit's cheek.

Arthur leaned into his touch and smiled.

"Yes?"

"Are ya real?" Alfred inquired painfully, eyes threatening to spill over with tears again.

"Yes, Alfred. I'm very much real."

"How?" The American's hand cupped his cheek a bit firmer, as if testing for proof of the Brit's last statement.

"You're a difficult man to find Alfred. Months of searching for any trace of you, and even then, I never found anything until now. Next time you wish to tell about yourself, be more specific than a 'town in Pennsylvania' as I've discovered there are many of those. A carpenter told me I could find you here as well. I'm glad he was right." Arthur explained gently.

Something akin to a laugh rumbled in the ex-cowboy's throat and he clasped his arms around Arthur and brought him to his chest in a strong hug.

"You're really here." He muttered as he stroked the Brit's hair and just held his lover close.

"Indeed, I am." Arthur confirmed and nuzzled against Alfred, feeling his own eyes moisten and leak hot tears. 676 days was a long time to be without a single touch from his lover. He very much intended to make up for that lost time. Now though, he was more than content to simply lie in the circle of Alfred's arms as they both shook and cried.

Alfred smiled wider as he felt Arthur's lips move against his neck and the Brit's familiar voice roll out the very words that echoed in his mind.

"I love you." Arthur whispered.

The American sighed and looked up to the beautiful full moon hovering above them, and listened to soft babble of the river and slow lull of his Englishman's breath and knew everything, no matter how poor had it once been, was well so long as the Brit sprawled across his chest was his again.

Yes, Alfred could easily say he was a happy man as he let his blue eyes slip shut and drew in a long breath. There was never a time that the words had come so easily to his tongue.

"I love ya too, Artie."

Fin.

Done.

Wow, I'm crying. I hope you all liked it. I couldn't make these two die alone. They needed a happy ending, even if it was hidden in much woe and angst. :)

Only a few things. We own property in Oil City, I've been there, and it's so beautiful. I described it as best I could recall with as much historical accuracy as possible.

I even threw in some Descartes in the beginning for those who caught it. "I doubt, therefore I think, therefore I am."

Yao's medicine is legit traditional medicine. The smells? Mint oil, marigold and alcohol. Marigold was used to stem infections and kept with alcohol. Mint oil was a natural topical painkiller and brought down inflammation and reduced bruising. Nifty, huh?

Once again, thank you to the amazing Kay for helping me perfect me favorite story to write!

Anyway... bye folks. It's been fun, I'll catch you guys at Risico (hopefully) ;)

And they lived happily ever after (Hero and Cisco too).

The End. :)

….OR IS IT? Nope, there is a planned sequel! It will be called 'Fooling You', so watch out for it! Hope to see y'all there. :D